


from the honeymoon suite

by riotvans



Category: Original Work
Genre: Eventual Smut, Fluff, M/M, Self-Indulgent, Self-Insert, oh god oh fuck my first work
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-13
Updated: 2020-07-13
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:22:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25245337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/riotvans/pseuds/riotvans
Summary: a hotel owner and a punk walk into a bar, wyd?kind of a dump for my stories featuring my two favorite people, myself and my oc malcolm.did this in an attempt to get over my fear of sharing my stories.
Relationships: Original Male Character/Original Male Character
Kudos: 2





	from the honeymoon suite

Today I found a magazine with one of my idols (and celebrity crushes) on the cover in my nightstand drawer stashed away like a porno magazine. I remember the exact day I bought it too. I was at a bookstore and I saw it in the checkout area and the moment I saw who was on the cover, I made a mad dash for the checkout area. I did contemplate it though; the magazine was like twelve bucks which is stupid for something no one really buys but skims through and puts back. (When was the last time you bought a magazine? Man, wait until you hear about the internet.) But for who was on the cover, I was more than willing to pay the stupid twelve dollars.  
  
Like any child that picks up a book, I looked at the pictures and read some of the interview. My only take away from the interview was that he really liked this Bolognese recipe he found- or made himself. I didn’t read it all. He puts bacon bits in it, and he says it’s even good when cold. I took this magazine with me to school almost every day. I really liked the guy, okay? I’d show it my best and only friend at school at the time who hated my obsession with him. It was weird because she was one of those friends who would always get an ugly boyfriend and would force you to compliment him- no matter how ugly you thought he was but proceeded to get mad at you when you were being honest about his looks. I could handle her opinions about this man I claimed to love but have never met in my life.  
  
Four years later and I finally read the interview. It was a good read. The interviewer had nothing but nice things to say about him, mainly because he was and still is a sweetheart. And he only had nice things to say about the people _he_ talked about. After reading the interview, I had something other than his good looks to admire. As far as I know, there isn’t a hateful bone in his body. When talking about his controversial relationship with his ex (long story short, the public wasn’t buying it), he said he only knew the girl he fell in love with and that’s saying something for a relationship that felt like it only lasted a week.  
  
It inspired me to conduct my own interview with someone who I love just as much, my partner Malcolm. I’ve interviewed other people before rather awkwardly but this is Malcolm we’re talking about. He has walls. We all do. He's a bit on the reserved side but with the time I’ve spent with him, I’ve seen these walls come down. These demolished walls are my favorite part of him. I even went out of the way and got a recording device from a buddy who works in film. I like being extra.   
  
It’s at about 2 am. There’s this thing my body does where I just _have_ to wake up at this time. It’s every day too. When this happens, I wake Malcolm up. He encourages me to do so because it is incredibly difficult for me to go back to sleep once awake. Also, it’s kind of boring being awake all by yourself. In these hours, I learned how to call from a private number (*67, for prank call purposes), learned useless but interesting facts about space, and how sex can be one hell of a sleeping pill. Tonight, I wanted to do something different.  
  
We’re sat in the kitchen area of the suite. The only thing separating us is the kitchen island. My recording device sits in the middle of us. **Are you ready?** _“Mhm.”_ Great, I start with an over the top introduction of him. **Ladies, guys, and people who don’t care what’s between their thighs, it’s two in the fucking morning and I can’t sleep but the man I’m sitting across from makes it all worth it. He’s got great hair and even great taste in men. He’s dating me! The man, the myth, future astronaut and legend: Malcolm Hall!** I feel like a podcast host. It’s a good feeling. _“You’re so annoying.”_ He loves me though.  
  
I have a list of questions I wrote down in less than five minutes. They’re nothing special and I want this to be fun and not so serious. This man constantly throws himself at his work- spending endless hours at a desk. Serious is his middle name. When he’s not in his office, he’s at the bar talking to you about a film he saw with a margarita in front of him or playing blackjack with you and your coworkers. Maybe he’s in suite 505 kicking it with yours truly, telling me about his day while I struggle to put a face mask on his moving face. **How are you doing?** He chuckles. That fucking chuckle. _“Tired. But I’m with you, so I can’t complain. How are you?”_ **I’m not so tired but I can’t complain. You’re here.**  
  
**I see you’re well-dressed for our interview. A bit too casual but you look good regardless.** _“Fuck off.”_ He says this in a whisper but it’s almost too quiet, it almost looks like he’s mouthing it. He’s in a bathrobe, his hair tossed from sleep; strands of it falling into his face. His face is resting in his palm as he looks at me with a tired smile, his eyes struggling to stay open. This is all unintentional, but I think this is extremely sexy of him. These small things have such a tremendous effect on me. They light the pit in my stomach and make me squirm in my seat a little. **I’m messing. You look great as always.** _“You’re not looking too bad yourself.”_ **I know.** If I ever die in my sleep, I want to be in the best damn pair of silk pajamas there is.  
  
The coffee machine makes a noise indicating that it’s done brewing his cup of caffeine. **That’s a nice coffee maker. When did you get it?** I’m going off-script at this point. _“This thing?”_ He taps the machine like the hood of a car. _“It came with the room. The interior design people take care of that. I just run the place, so I don’t know when it got here. But I do know that the other machines were really fucking old.”_ **Oh, interesting.** _“Not really. You know, I was expecting you to give me much harder questions.”_ **Really? It’s important to expect the unexpected.** _“Now you’re scaring me.”_ **Good.** Part of me can’t tell if he knows I’m teasing him.  
  
I’m not a coffee drinker like him but if it tasted as good as it smelt, then I could be. It’s a hazelnut blend. He mixes it with half-and-half and three scoops of sugar. His sips are slow and cautious. He seems to have bad luck with hot things. He burnt his hand in a waffle iron one time and a dozen more times while preparing dinner. Maybe a hot object, liquid, or _thing_ is the reason for the tape on his right hand. **What happened to your hand?** He looks up at me through his mug. _“Masturbation incident.”_ By the way, I am madly in love with this man.  
  
**Do you remember when we met?** This is a weird transition because it was on my list of questions and my timing couldn’t be any worse considering moments ago, I asked a question and the answer I received was masturbation. The question makes him smile though. He either remembers or he’s pretending to remember. _“Yeah. Of course I do.”_ He takes both my hands, gliding his thumbs across my knuckles. **I want dates, times, names, everything.** _“I don’t remember the exact date, but I believe it was March.”_ He’s correct. _“It was at the hair salon and I booked an appointment with you.”_ He’s correct again. I cut his hair for free now- well, unless he’s pissed me off. Then, I charge him ten bucks. Twenty if I’m really upset.  
  
**Do you remember what time you showed up for your appointment?** _“Late. Very late.”_ He came in about two and a half hours late. I was pissed. _“You were pissed.”_ He apologized profusely, and I still cut his hair. I remember it being soft and full. It still is. That's just one of the perks of having a hairstylist as a boyfriend. _“I remember when you washed my hair. It’s my favorite part of you doing my hair.”_ I remember that too. The shampoo had a minty menthol smell. When it was on your head, it added a cooling factor and when you inhaled it, your lungs felt like winter. Basically, vapor rub for your hair.  
  
He got lost in the way I massaged his scalp, his eyes closed and smiling. I can still hear his Yorkshire accent telling me “Tha’ feels good.” After I washed it, I blew it out and started cutting it. That’s when I told him his hair was soft. _“Looking back on it, you kept your hands in my hair way too long.”_ **It’s part of the job.** _“That’s what they all say.”_ He takes a long sip from his mug, his eyes not leaving mine. _“Your hair was...interesting as well.”_ Interesting, in the way he’s using it, is slang for saying you don’t know whether you should like something because you’ve never seen it before. Back in the day, I’d dye my hair all types of colors. Shit, I thought I looked good.   
  
_“The Smiths played on the stereo and your singing was terrible.”_ That’s a lie. I’m not Morrissey but I try to stay on key. _“I’m kidding. But when you moved around the shop, you were always swaying to the music. You were fun to watch.”_ He winks at me and my face heats up at the memory. I danced like no one was watching. _“We talked and talked and next thing I knew, I was asking you out on a date.”_ The first date meant to be memorable but due to one incident, I feel like our date was memorable for the wrong reasons. _“We went bowling. I’ll never forget it.”_ I know why. _“You slipped and fell in the aisle.”_ I was so embarrassed. **Is that the only thing you remember? Whenever we talk about it, you always bring it up.** _“That’s how I break the ice. ‘My boyfriend and I went bowling and he fell in the aisle. It was our first date. It's nice to meet you.'"_   
  
I’m a little tired now, my eyes a bit heavy, and voice softening. He answered the first date question I had prepared, so I decided to move on to my last one. **Have you ever been in love?** _“Yes. I’d say so. Are you or have you ever been in love?”_ I’m supposed to be asking the questions, but I answer anyway. **Yeah. I am right now.** It’s a funny feeling because I’ve never been in love before. _“Really? Who with?”_ **You**. My eyes can’t take the weight and close. _“Good answer.”_ I can hear the smile in his voice.  
  
It’s a few minutes to 4 now. Our interview is done, and we’re ready for bed. We don’t go straight to sleep though. I listen to him talk some more with my head on his chest, his little chest hairs tickling my cheek. I begin to absently trace patterns across his chest. He says it tickles. His hand goes up my shirt, moving his hand up and down my back almost in a soothing rhythm. Sometimes, he stops, and I think he’s asleep, but I get the feeling that he realizes that I sensed he’s stopped and keeps going until I’m asleep. The hum of his chest when he speaks, combined with his hand and heartbeat is enough for me to call it a night.   
  
His skin radiates a warmth that can’t be duplicated. His hands have a pattern like no other, each touch raising the hairs on my body. Despite it being hours since he’s showered, I can smell the scent of my cherry soap on him. This moment is something I never knew I needed and if it were to be taken away, I would be beyond devastated. I close my eyes. I cannot think of any other place I’d rather be than here.


End file.
